


Help Me Draw The Line

by jenlynn820



Category: pinesaac
Genre: M/M, RPF, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenlynn820/pseuds/jenlynn820
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris returns to his hotel room late one night and hears a siren's call from down the corridor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Draw The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Pinesaac is not real. Pine and Isaac are real. But they are not fucking. More's the pity.

_we can ill afford_   
_to give ourselves to sentiment_   
_when our time is oh so short_

_(david gray-[draw the line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-LBrFs8Niw))_

 

It was nearly midnight as Chris tiredly made his way to his hotel room.  He got to the door and fumbled with the keycard. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he muttered, frustration mounting.  He stopped for a moment to scrub his hand over his tired eyes and that’s when he heard it. From the other end of the hall, the soft strains of a guitar being picked at.

Chris turned to the direction of the music and could hear a voice, sandy and low, singing over the chords being strummed out.  He took a couple steps closer to the sound so he could hear better until he found himself all the way down the corridor in front of a door that was slightly ajar.  

Chris tried to peek inside.  He couldn’t see anyone from this angle but he could hear a lot better now.  The singer’s voice was warm and the emotion he sang with broke Chris’ heart a little.  It also sounded familiar, somehow. Chris felt a wave of guilt and was about to retreat when the door swung open..  “Oh, um, hi,” Chris stammered.

The man before him frowned. It wasn’t an entirely unhappy frown though, it was more confused than anything else. “You're not room service,” he said.

“No, I was-- eavesdropping.  I’m sorry.  I heard the music and next thing I knew I was standing here like a total creeper.”  Chris stared very impolitely at the other man.  He was shorter than Chris, with dark curly hair.  And he’d started smiling, despite Chris’ rather rude intrusion upon a personal moment.  Come to think of it, he also looked…like…. no, couldn’t be.  Chris rubbed his eyes again, convinced he was having an exhaustion induced hallucination. Like how a man dying of thirst in a desert sees an oasis with clear, sparkling water, Chris was seeing...

“A fucking handsome total creeper,” the dark haired man said, breaking Chris’ reverie.  “Also, we know each other.”

Chris squinted.  “Wait-- Oscar?”  Chris felt a little rush of relief that he wasn’t having a massive hallucination. He felt something else, too.  A wild need, a distinct kind of hunger, flooding his blood.  He swallowed hard.

Oscar’s smile deepened.  “Yes, Chris, right?  We met in Anaheim this summer,” he said, as if Chris needed prompting to remember. He didn’t.  It had flashed through his brain in technicolor as soon as he’d said the other man’s name.  

“Yes, yes we did.  Oh fuck, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was you…”  Met in Anaheim was an interestingly benign description of what had happened that hot day on the edges of Disneyland.

“So, it’d have been better if you were listening in on a total stranger and not the guy you spent 18 torrid hours with doing things that are probably illegal that close to Disneyland?”

Chris could feel his face flush.  “No, I... I just-- this is awkward.”

Oscar laughed.  “A little bit.  Why don’t you come in, tell me why you’re in London creeping around my room at this ungodly hour.”

Chris began to protest, “Is midnight really ungodly?” he said.  And then, “ I, uh, really ought to go to bed.  To sleep,”  he said.

Oscar stepped a little closer.  He looked up at Chris.  Chris took the time to really look at him now.  Oscar was wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweat pants that were just a little too long.  “Aw, come on.  Just for a little bit?  We haven’t talked since that night.”

Chris smiled at Oscar. They had talked that night.  Chris thought about their conversations, about how hard Oscar made him laugh, just as much as he’d thought about how hard Oscar had made him come.  All of it, every second he’d spent with Oscar had left an indelible mark on Chris.  

“Well?” Oscar prompted. “Coming?”

There was a darkly seductive quality to Oscar’s voice, a hint of mischief, of promise. “Okay,” Chris said, following Oscar into the room. “And I’m actually in London filming Wonder Woman, since you wondered,”  Chris undid his camel colored pea coat, hung it on the rack near the door.

“Very progressive to cast a man as Wonder Woman.  Or very regressive. But I bet you look great in a skirt,” Oscar said.

“I do have nice legs.  I’m playing the boyfriend, actually,” Chris said.  Oscar’s room was neat.  A lot neater than his own.  The only thing out of place was a charcoal grey suit thrown haphazardly over a chair.  “You’re in town for Star Wars.”

Oscar nodded.  “Yeah, big premiere tonight.  So many people.  It was fucking insane.”

“I’ve had premieres like that.  Well, probably not exactly like that, not as big.”

“I don’t mind it, it’s fun generally.  But it was pandemonium on the red carpet and then the party was almost too much so I skipped out a little early, came back here to decompress. I ordered some food.  And then you came stumbling in.”

“I really am sorry about that.  I couldn’t get my keycard to work and then I heard the music…”

“Like a siren's call,” Oscar said.  

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I’m glad you answered,” Oscar said, moving to close the distance between them. Room service showed up then, pushing a cart into the room.  Oscar made a funny, mournful face, before he tipped the guy, thanked him, and shut the door.  “You want some? I ordered fries, a burger, onion rings…”

It wasn’t until that moment that Chris realized he was completely starved.  “Actually, yeah, I’d love some.”

Oscar grinned widely.  “Let’s do a little picnic then, right here, by the coffee table.  Can you get some beer or whatever you want to drink from the minibar?”

Chris nodded and pulled two bottles of Guinness out of the minibar and opened them.  When he turned around Oscar had indeed set up a little picnic on the floor and was sitting cross legged, devouring a hamburger.  Chris smiled. The man ate with gusto, something Chris could relate to.  He sat down, put a bottle in front of Oscar.  Chris took a long drink of his own beer.  

“You look wrecked, buddy,” Oscar said.

“I am.  I thought playing the boyfriend of a superhero would entail a lot of me being carried around bridal style and fainting and such.”

Oscar snorted, put the half finished burger down onto the plate, shoved it toward Chris.  “Not so much?”

“No, it’s a lot of me getting my ass kicked and then being saved by my super honey,” Chris laughed.  “I shouldn’t complain.  It’s not like I’m a fucking coal miner.”

“Well, no, but 14 hours days are brutal, even for non coal miners,” Oscar said.  He took a long drink from his beer and Chris watched with interest as Oscar’s mouth wrapped around the glass, watched his throat spasm as he swallowed, dark eyelashes smudges against his cheeks.  “You’re not eating,” Oscar said, startling Chris out of his distractedness.

Chris shoved a few fries and an onion ring into his mouth.  “You're done with the burger?”

“We’re sharing, aren’t we?” Oscar said.  “Don’t tell me you’re going to be weird about sharing a burger when I’ve had my mouth around your dick.”

Chris could feel himself turning red again.  “I’m not being weird.”  He then proceeded to down the burger in one very big bite, drinking some Guinness to choke it down.  Which was definitely weird.

Oscar chuckled.  “You’re not weird at all,” he said, stretching his legs out now, eating french fries like they were going out of style.  

A few seconds passed. “You play beautifully,” Chris remarked.  Oscar’s face scrunched up.  “The guitar.”

“Oh, thank you.  You play too, if memory serves?”

Chris smiled. They’d talked guitars that night in Anaheim, among other things.  Chris had felt this electric, instant connection with Oscar.  It had been a long time since Chris felt anything close to what he did when they talked and when they touched…  And the odd thing?  It stayed with him.  Even now he felt it, thrumming between them.  

"Chris?  Hello? Are you sleeping with your eyes open?  Is that a thing you do?” Oscar said.

“Sorry-- I zoned-- sorry.  I play but-- I mean, I’m an amateur.”

Oscar waved that off with a dismissive gesture.  “So was I until I wasn’t.  And I still am, in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true for everything we do in life....”

Oscar snorted.  “Except for how we fucked in Anaheim. That was some professional grade sex we had there.”

Chris blinked but recovered quickly. “Professional like high class hooker professional?”

Oscar laughed.  “Oh, I see now. Are you here to tell me I owe you money for that night?  I don’t have any cash, you take credit?”

Chris shook his head and laughed, too, tried to think of a witty reply and then put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry-- my brain is too tired to banter.”

Oscar smiled softly, gently.  “You gave great banter in Anaheim.”

“Yeah?” Chris said.

“Absolutely.  Professional grade,” Oscar said and winked.  There were a few long seconds of silence. “If I can be serious though for a minute?  That was a great half day and night.”

Oscar’s deep brown eyes were locked on Chris’, his mouth curled in a smile and Chris flashed back to the way Oscar looked with his lips wrapped around Chris’ cock, his eyes dark and deadly serious, like the only thing in the world that mattered was giving Chris pleasure.  “It was.”

“I never called you after. Or texted,” Oscar said.

“Neither did I.”

“I guess we both suck,” Oscar said.  “You seemed distracted, there. Not during the epic sex and thank you for that, but before, when we were talking in the bar, you were about a million miles away, at least at first. I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to close the deal and get you back to my room.  And that never happens to me.”

Chris smiled and looked down. “I was about 1300 miles away,” Chris said. “It was a strange summer.  A good summer. But a weird one for a lot of weird reasons.”  Chris stopped to drink some beer.  He looked at Oscar again.  

Oscar was looking right back at him, really _looking_ , a soft expression on his impossibly handsome face, like he was trying to puzzle something out.  He waited a long beat to see if Oscar was going to ask him what was so weird but good but weird about the summer but the other man just kept looking at him. It was Chris who shattered the silence. “Those crazy eighteen hours with you were the best eighteen hours I’ve had in… longer than I can remember,” Chris said , the words coming out hurried, confessional.

Oscar pushed all the food away and inched closer to Chris.  “That’s a damn shame.  You deserve to have those kinds of days all the fucking time.”

“How do you know what I deserve?  Maybe I’m a jerk  who deserves to be alone,” Chris said.  

“Nah,” Oscar said, reaching out, resting his hand against Chris’ cheek, thumb sliding across his lower lip.  

“How can you be sure?  We’ve only known each other 18 and a half hours now.”

“Aw, you’re counting,” Oscar teased, lips ever so close to Chris’.  There was that serious look again in Oscar’s eyes.  “I know because I’m an excellent judge of people.  I know because you left me that note on the pillow.  And I’ve still got it, like a fucking schoolgirl, tucked into my wallet.”

Chris smiled softly.  “Really?”

Oscar nodded.  “I think you should come to bed with me.”  He ran a marauding hand down Chris’ neck, fingers slipping beneath the collar of Chris’ thin grey shirt and resting there.  

“I think you’re right,” Chris said.

Oscar got to his feet and held out his hands.  Chris took them and Oscar helped pull him to his feet.  Chris looked down at the shorter man.  “Lead on.”

Oscar kept both of Chris’ hands for a moment and got up on his tiptoes.  He brushed his lips against Chris’.  He let go of one of Chris’ hands and walked him to the bedroom.  

Oscar stopped at the foot of the bed  and Chris, not paying attention to where they were exactly in relation to large objects,  banged into him at full force, sending Oscar tumbling back onto the bed, Chris flailed and landed hard, on top of him. “Ow,” Oscar said.  “I think you broke me…”

“Fuck, sorry,” Chris said, pushing his hands against the bed, trying to get off of the other man but Oscar wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“Don’t go.  Make it up to me,” Oscar said.

“I can try,” Chris said and kissed the other man.  Oscar’s mouth was warm, pliant, against his and his stubble rasped against Chris’ skin.  As the kiss continued they crawled up the bed until they were sprawled across the length of it, Chris still on top of Oscar, the smaller man pinned beneath him.

Oscar slipped his hands beneath his’ shirt, his fingernails scraped lightly down his back and grabbed the hem.  “Arms up, big boy,” Oscar said.

Chris grinned and lifted up, his arms over his head, letting Oscar strip the shirt off his body.  Oscar let out a low whistle. “I’ve been working out,” Chris said.

“I see that,” Oscar said, pulling his own t-shirt off.  “I haven’t.”

Chris let out a little snort and went back to kissing the other man as their hands worked on shedding the rest of their clothes.  It was fumbling and artless with muttered apologies and muffled laughter until they were finally naked, tangled together beneath the kind of fabulously silken sheets you only found at five star hotels.  

Oscar pushed his fingers through Chris’ hair, lifted his head to take control of the kiss, used his legs for leverage and with one practiced move flipped their positions.  He grinned down at Chris, nipped playfully at his lower lip.  “If my math is right, I think It’s my turn,” he said.

Chris arched an eyebrow.  “You kept track of that?”

“Yes,” Oscar said.  “And it’s my turn. You skipped out in the morning, remember?”

“So you keep reminding me,” Chris said, sliding his hand behind Oscar’s neck, pulling him in so their mouths could meet again. “I’m all yours.”

A rueful look flitted over Oscar’s face and was just as quickly gone.  “At least for the night,” Oscar said.  

The last time they’d been in bed together their bodies has moved at breakneck speed.  It was unfettered, untamed, with wave upon wave of ecstasy crashing down on Chris.  Now they took their time as Oscar’s mouth kissed wetly across Chris’ chest, his belly, his hips.  Chris threaded his fingers through Oscar’s inky curls, leaving a mess in their wake.

Oscar’s lips found his again and kissed him, hard, impatient, his tongue pushed inside Chris’ mouth. Chris slid a hand between them. He moved his fingers over Oscar’s hip, then between his thighs, taking hold of his hard cock.  Oscar growled a little, bit at Chris’ shoulder before lifting his head, looking down into Chris’ eyes.  

Oscar reached to the side, into a shaving kit sitting on the nightstand, in the same place he had kept it in Anaheim.  Chris heard the pop of a cap and felt Oscar’s knee between his legs, nudging them apart.  Chris let his head fall back against the soft pillows as Oscar’s finger pressed against him.  For a small man, Oscar had big hands with long, thick fingers.  A low moan fell from Chris’ lips as Oscar pushed one finger inside him.  His body relaxed for Oscar, opened for the other man with surprising ease.  

Chris heard the tear of the wrapper and then the other man’s lips were against his neck. Oscar used his hands to urge Chris to wrap around him and Chris obeyed. Oscar entered his body and a breathless little noise escaped Chris’s throat.  He gripped Oscar’s arms and opened his eyes. Oscar had his eyes closed, his brow was furrowed, his mouth parted, his face lit with rapture.  “Oscar,” Chris exhaled.

The other man opened his eyes and leaned his head close, planted a soft kiss on Chris’ mouth and moved his hips, moved their bodies together.  Pleasure came and went like thunderclaps, rumbling, powerful.  There was a tenderness to Oscar’s touch, a different tonal quality from before.  To Chris, It felt like a minor key _sounded_ , soft, sweet, careful. As if it meant more this time around.  As if something important hung in the balance.  

That tremulous, diaphanous sensation was punctured all at once as Chris felt his hunger for Oscar spike, felt ravenous for him. He pushed one hand into Oscar’s curls again and deepened the kiss, bruised the other man’s mouth.  Oscar responded in kind.  He thrust hard, deep and then deeper into Chris’ body as he wrapped his fingers around Chris’ cock, roughly stroking him.  

Chris came, something pent up inside him for god knows how long tearing itself free from his chest as he cried out.  Oscar came too, his body shook, his arms gave way as he sunk down on top of Chris.  They stayed that way, Oscar draped over Chris, both men breathing hard, for a long while.  Finally, Oscar pushed himself up and off of Chris, rolling to the side.  

Chris turned his head and watched Oscar get out of bed and disappear from the room.  Chris shifted onto his side, tucked his arms beneath the pillow under his head and yawned, forcing himself to stay awake.  He was already tired when he got here, and it was catching up to him, reaching it’s apex, tugging at his brain.  Oscar came back, slid  into bed, facing Chris.

“Thanks a lot, that was great,” he said, in tone Chris hadn’t heard from him before but one that sounded almost nervous.

Chris let out a huff of laughter.  “You’re welcome.”  He closed his eyes, unable anymore to keep them open.  He felt Oscar move, the bed jostling, and then one of Oscar’s arms was around him.  “If you want to talk that’s fine but I’m about to be unconscious so maybe we can do it in the morning?”  Chris felt Oscar’s mouth on his.

“Yeah, let’s do it in the morning,” he said.  “Just don’t sneak out on me.”  Oscar nuzzled even closer, face pressed into the crook of Chris’ neck.

Chris promised he wouldn’t or at least he thought about promising he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be entirely sure given his level of extreme sleepiness.  He’d ask Oscar in the morning… that was his last conscious thought. Oscar remained pressed against him and a smile crossed Chris’ mouth as he drifted off.

 

****

 

Chris woke the next morning with Oscar in his arms, pressed against his chest.  It was easily in the top five of the nicest ways to wake up, Chris thought.  He slipped from the bed, careful not to wake the other man and used the bathroom.  He’d slept with his contacts in, like an idiot, and his eyes were killing him.

Chris returned to the room and checked to make sure Oscar was still asleep.  He pulled on his jeans, his shirt, and decided to skip the shoes as he darted out of the room.  He got his keycard from his jacket and this time entered his own room with no problems.  He thanked the gods of hotel keycards for his trouble with it last night, assuming it was divine intervention that led him to Oscar’s room.  

He went into his bathroom, removed the contacts,  squirted some eyedrops into his red eyes,  washed his face, and put on his glasses. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, asked himself if he knew what he was doing.  As expected, he got no answer.  Chris sighed and headed back down the hall to Oscar.  When he got back to the bedroom Oscar was sitting up in bed, looking down at his phone.  “Hi, sorry, had to get my contacts out, they were murdering me.”

Oscar smiled, his eyes widening in a look of surprise.  “I thought you’d--”

“Snuck out again,” Chris nodded, sitting on the bed close to to the other man.  “I told you I wouldn’t. Well, I think I did.  Might’ve just been in my head. I was kind of a mess last night.”

“You really weren’t,” Oscar said, reaching a hand out, resting it on Chris’ cheek and then kissing him.

“How long are you in London?” Chris asked when their mouths parted.

“Just another few hours, unfortunately. Off to the next press engagement.”

“Oh,” Chris said.  “That sucks.”

“I don’t mind the press tours, they’re kind of fun.”

“I meant for me.   I thought I’d take you to breakfast,” Chris said.

“Really?  Bold of you to want to expose this to the harsh light of day.”

“I think this can… withstand some sunlight.  Although I think it's raining today.”

Oscar smiled. “It’s a pity, I would have liked breakfast,” Oscar said.  

“Me too.  How about a raincheck?  We can see when our schedules link up again and… get breakfast.”

Now Oscar grinned. “This is getting serious. Linking schedules.  Future plans.”

“Breakfast isn’t serious.  Dinner, that’s serious.”

“Interesting ranking system.”

“Well, I mean, a dinner date involves the proper pairing of wine and food, which is preferably copious amounts of pasta. Whereas breakfast while also a vital part of the day is a lot less formal.  Involving eggs and coffee.  Maybe a bagel. Or a muffin.  Depends.  You don’t happen to live in LA, do you?”

Oscar shook his head. “Lord no, you couldn’t pay me.”

“Hey, that’s my hometown you’re badmouthing.”

“Your hometown sucks,” Oscar said.

“I bet I can change your mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  See, I know LA the way others don’t.  I’m like your inside track to how glorious LA can be.  Do you know when you’ll be there next?”

Oscar scrunched his face up.  “January I think.  Golden Globes.”

“Hey, it’s kismat.  I’ll be there then, too,” Chris said. “We can have a meal and I’ll show you around town.”

 "All right,” Oscar said.

 Chris looked at his watch.  “I should get going-- I have a workout session and you probably need to get ready to leave.”

 “Yeah,” Oscar said.  “Hey, I’m glad you stayed the night this time.”

 “So am I,” Chris said.  He kissed Oscar again, letting their lips linger.  “I’ll text and call.”

 “Ok,” Oscar said.  “Me too.”

After one more kiss Chris got the rest of his things and went back to his room.  He looked at his phone and had a message about his work out.  He sent a reply that he’d be there in five.  Chris figured he should shower since he was sure he smelled like Oscar.  Instead he changed into his work out gear and headed down to the gym.  His phone chimed as he got to the elevator.

_I can’t wait until January._

Chris felt his heart beat a bit harder. He typed back.  “Me neither.  Can you stay in London one more night?”

_Already changed my flight.  Meet me at my room at 7. Wine. Copious amounts of pasta.  Copious amounts of sex to follow._

“Sounds serious,” Chris typed.

_Extremely._

“It’s a date,” Chris typed, grinning as he walked into the elevator, humming along to a tune he was certain only he could hear.

 

 _fin_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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